


Mud

by Sjukdom



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Creepy, Horror, M/M, gobblepotweek2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjukdom/pseuds/Sjukdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They said that something was hiding in the depths of the swamp, something evil, waiting for the new flesh and blood and that many fools went there, bot nobody came back. Except one man.<br/>***<br/>Written for Gobblepot Week 2015: Day 5 - AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mud

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so feel free to tell me about any mistakes :)

They said that nobody should have crossed the edge of the town. There was a swamp there, the big slough filled with greenish fog, in which small lights floated, pale as souls of the dead. Rare trees rose from the swamp, weak and thin, looking more like skeletons with overlong limbs, crooked and black, their bark covered with phosphorescent moss. There was always dark upon the slough, no matter what time it was and it stank like rotting flesh, a sweet nauseous smell. The swamp was full of noises, slurping, scratching; echo wandered across it, forgotten voices and laughter, pleads for help and threats. They said that something was hiding in the depths of the swamp, something evil, waiting for the new flesh and blood and that many fools went there, bot nobody came back. Except one man.

He lived completely alone, having come in the town not long ago – he came from the swamp, mud-covered and shivering, nearly mad with fear. He never told anybody, where he was from or what had been doing in the swamp. They knew only his name – Jim Gordon. He barely left his house in daytime, sleeping mostly, sleeping badly, scaring his neighbors with moans and screams. Despite his rather young age, his hair were as gray as ashes. Every night he went into the swamp, barely visible in the fog, swallowing him completely as he moved deeper. They called him a witcher, a sorcerer, a devil's servant, but nobody dared to ask, why he was coming there again and again, why he kept on returning to the place which scared the hell out of him once and nobody dared to follow him. There were rumors that he had something to dob with the thing hiding in the swamp. People came Jim by, as if he wore something contagious in him. But, watching his silhouette disappearing in the fog, they couldn't help wondering what called him there. Or who.

If someone would have followed him, he would have seen Jim going almost blindly, his nose covered with a piece of fabric, a stick in his hands to find safe spots in the swamp, eyes almost white, empty, face blank. The swamp was around for miles, sighing, whispering, breathing stinking fumes. Jim walked on and on, seeking out something. He got down on his knees, touching the soggy earth, bathing his fingers in foul water, infested with small hoary insects. Sometimes he found nothing and went back, slowly as if in a dream. Sometimes he stood still and waited, leaning on the stick. Rarely, something moved under the water, something big, bubbles of air floated to its surface. Jim seemed to wake up from his haze in this moments, his eyes went wide, hands moved anxiously, cupping around, voice trembled.

“Oswald?” called he, weakly at first, then louder and louder. Something under the water floated around him in circles, which became narrower, and then its head appeared above the water. Jim sniffed, a strange mix of laughter and tears in his voice and reached out for the creature. Its hair were black, slush and duckweed entangled in it, its eyes had no pupils or whites, only matte blackness. The thing moved closer to Jim, stretching out from the water, revealing the torso, covered with transparent skin, every bone and vein visible under it. Upon the flesh of it crawled small centipedes and leeches and when it reached the solid surface, the follower could have seen that the creature resembled a human only partly. Its narrow hips turned into a tangle of gray tentacles, slimy and shivering. The thing stared at Jim mindlessly as he wrapped his hands around it, nuzzling its chest, where its beating heart was seen, as he was embracing a lover.

“Oswald, please, forgive me, it's all my fault”, said he, cradling the head of the creature in his lap. It didn't react, jerking slightly. Jim covered its face with kisses, saying softly:

“It's all my fault. I should have never brought you here, to the - It's turning people into the – Why hasn't it taken me?“

He could sit like that for hours, whispering madly, but the creature in his hands struggled out and dove into the water, leaving him alone. He staggered to his feet, swinging and trembling badly and went back into the town, his face blank again. 

They called him a madman, but he paid them no attention. He locked up in his small house and waited for the new night to come, waited until he could go into the swamp again.

They said, one day he wouldn't go back.


End file.
